A Life Rich in Irony
by Shadenight123
Summary: Louise summons a different familiar...she simply doesn't get the Hero of the tale this time around though. A disillusioned Hero, chosen of the gods both for Cyrodiil and Skyrim, ends up spurred by Sheogorath on another quest. Was it mentioned the hero is the obvious 'Can do everything' and a Necrophiliac? Of course this matters little in the great scheme of things...of the Irony!
1. The Irony of the Situation

**A Life Rich in Irony.**

Let me tell you a story, which begins in a realm far away. Let me tell you of my story, which starts in a prison, continues throughout the land of Cyrodiil, and ends with me taking up the fight against the Mythic Dawn and its Daedric lord, bringing forth the rise –and quite frankly– immediate suicide-by-awesome of the heir of the Septim dynasty.

Let me tell you of the sequel of my story, which continues in a realm, further away, further down in time.

It doesn't start in a prison this time, but it starts on a carriage. I remember being shoulder to shoulder with the so called King of Kings of Skyrim. He wasn't that tough, once I broke his ribcage and shattered his head like a ripe watermelon.

I was the Prisoner. I was the Dragonborn.

But I never was _myself_.

I fought in the Legion, hoping to bring the glory of the Empire back.

I failed, and the Thalmor remained, even as I walked my way through the shadows of the Dark Brotherhood, even as I spoke to the Night Mother and she spoke back to me.

The Gods, the Aedra or the Daedra or maybe both, probably enjoyed seeing me struggle. Sheogorath at least was mad, but what was the excuse of the others?

Why could I not simply die?

"Legate," people saluted me as I walked the cobblestone stairs that would bring me up to Dragonsreach. "Dragonborn," others said with awe.

Where was my name, in all of this?

I didn't have one. It didn't matter to the gods.

For them, I could have been called 'Darkness' or 'Light' or 'Thomas'…they couldn't care, because the Gods made it so.

I was a symbol, not a person.

The amulet of Mara thudded against my leather armor, the dark black and red of the Dark Brotherhood eerily sucking in the light of the day. Irony was rich, and something I never lacked to show off as I walked.

My wife was probably the only one, who actually had taken notice, but then again she was the Queen of Hypocrites, and the most loyal I could find at that.

Lydia and the children were what kept me sane through my normal routine. I looked towards the Jarl, who stared back at me trying to act like normal, like I wasn't the Bane of Alduin, the slayer of the Dragon that could eat the world.

Like I wasn't capable of killing him and taking his place in combat, if I so wished.

"Dovahkiin," he spoke with annoyance. Since I knew him, he never spoke with any other tones but those of annoyance, displeasure, mild boredom and occasionally anger. Maybe he actually wanted to be challenged by me?

"Is something the matter?"

"To the south of here," the Jarl began. "Strange lights are seen at night, on the road."

I frowned. "Is it the headless hunter once more?"

"No," the Jarl shook his head. "They claim it is a green sphere, hovering and floating about."

Only because I took it upon myself to accept requests from anyone, didn't mean I actually did everything immediately. I nodded to the Jarl and he made a hand gesture to send me away.

To think sometimes, at night, I enjoy crawling right in front of the Jarl's beds and play with my daggers an inch away from their necks. They never hear me.

They never do, really.

The Gods gave me a second life, and I lived it fully. I was a Chosen of the Nine and the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood. I still am, actually.

I understand there has to be some irony when you're the Legate of the Legion and you're also the one responsible for killing your Emperor.

Maybe my name could be 'Irony'. Hey there, Irony Dragonborn, at your service.

Cue people laughing, because otherwise it's not fun.

My horse doesn't have a name too. It's just 'The Dragonborn's Horse'. I'm starting to think there's a conspiracy, or maybe it's all part of a greater plan that I'm not privy to…yet.

I suppose this could be considered just a chore, nothing extremely dangerous or that warrants getting back home to slip in my heavy armor. Let's face it: the Dark Brotherhood armor? Wonderful, stylish, black and red and all of that but…protection wise, it's Daedric you need to have.

Of course when you wear the Brotherhood's black, there's no way they'll hear you coming.

The Ancient one also has that…vintage feeling, you just can't stop loving the feeling of the leather gauntlets as they press against the neck of your next victim.

Lydia still has no clue I'm the Listener.

Actually, she has no clue at all of my…Dark associates.

Sure, she helped me with the Thieves' Guild, but then again stealing from others apparently is in the tenants of the 'Help your Thane' code.

Nocturnal was pretty much a horrible God though. I _burned_ her armor just to spite on her a bit.

The road is clear, and my horse is near the stables, brushed and well kept. 'The Dragonborn's horse' –a white and brown stallion– is eager to see me, and as I mount him and begin slowly making my way out of there, I can't help but spur him.

The wind hits me on the face, as I laugh at the exciting sensation of the cold breeze that Skyrim seems to possess everywhere I go. My heart beats loudly as I scream in exhilaration with just a wrangled set of vocals that hold no meaning. Finally I set up camp halfway near the abandoned fort –overrun by bandit once, and now inhabited by their corpses.

If everything goes well, in a few weeks I'll have convinced enough persons of my trust that they'll hand over control of the Imperial Legion in Skyrim to me. Once that is done…

I'll march on those Thalmor bastards and show them why you don't imprison the Dragonborn.

I never blamed the Legion for Helgen.

I blamed the Thalmor, and Talos help me…the High Elves will pay for what they did to Cyrodiil.

I was an Imperial, back in Cyrodiil. Here I'm a Nord, and yet my motherland will always be the central hub of the Empire.

I roll the sleeping mat down on the ground, and then I cross my arms behind my head as I rest with the sun's rays over me. My horse stands guard close by. I don't need anything more. It's not like anyone with a minimum of sanity wouldn't recognize me or my horse.

And if they still attack then they deserve dying a horrible death.

The night falls before I can even think more about it, and as the moons rise up in the night sky, I mount my horse once more and begin my long and boring patrol.

It isn't actually a boring patrol. Starting with a flock of Hargraven that apparently decided to try and be suicidal –they ran away when they realized that no, it wasn't just a courier but the Dragonborn on that horse– there were a few bandits and a couple of Tiger Sabers.

Why they decided all to try and attack me, I'll never know. Being a Courier is a heavy responsibility around here!

Swearing to myself to give a big tip to the next courier I will meet, I finally see what the light is all about.

There is a green portal hovering in the middle of the road now, it is green, fluctuating and there is a voice calling from beyond it.

Sheogorath is also dancing atop a pile of cheese next to it, but that's really nothing important considering what the god of madness can really do.

"Go, Go!" he gestures me to enter. "Come on boy, show some spirit of initiative."

"Sheogorath," I remark trying to keep my calm. I know I can defeat him, but still it's a god we are talking about and I did say I left the majority of my equipment back at home, didn't I?

It's better to play it safe with the God of madness. Giving him what he wants –and that is cheese, a chicken and some type of random mad event– usually calms him down enough to drop the Wabbajack and leave. Why he never cares about the stupid staff I'll never know.

I know I'd like to try and turn him into a form of cheese once.

"You have to go through my boy!" Sheogorath insists. "Someone is waiting on the other side for you!"

"Really?"

"Of course! Would you like some cheese?"

I'd like you to take my sword through your guts, Sheogorath…

I'll settle with touching the portal.

The moment I do, I barely have the time to see a raven haired boy with a strange blue and white cloth stumble out and fall in the middle of the road, that I'm absorbed by the orb.

I don't even ask myself what a kid was doing there, because…Sheogorath.

It's easier on the nerves to just not wonder what the god of insanity and madness does or why he does it.

Sometimes…sometimes you just need to go with the flow, you know?

So I end up falling down through this green portal, and as I land on thick and luscious grass…

Well, what do you know, Sheogorath sent me to a magic academy. If the towers don't give it away, then the people dressed in robes and the mage –holding a staff– are a clear sign of where I am.

The fact I can't understand their tongue? It means nothing.

My eyes move from the wizard, who is apparently talking to the pink haired girl that looks angry, towards the other mini-wizards.

And all of them have a strange beast next to them. I see…what the hell are those things? Giant lizards, I understand. Owls, giant moles…those too I can compute. What is a strange floating eye doing? Why is there a dragon going 'Kyuu' at my sight?

Dragons don't go 'Kyuu'. They either talk or they don't.

I point my finger at the dragon in question. The dragon flaps its wings. First off, the thing is _blue_. I never saw a blue dragon. Secondly, it doesn't even have scales or if it does, they're too small to be visible from the distance we are at.

She doesn't seem hostile, and so I avoid taking out my sword and slash her apart to devour her soul –for the moment anyway.

My gaze goes back to the pink haired mini-wizard –who looks more affronted than anything else. She's walking forward towards me, and you have to understand…she's what, half my size? Maybe a quarter, or a third? She gestures for me to get down to her level. It's like watching my daughter wanting to be taken on my shoulders.

Well, she doesn't seem a menace, and so I start to kneel. The moment her hands go to my face however, I grab her wrist and spin her so that she can face her classmates.

Oh, did I mention I'm also holding Mephunes Dagger to her neck?

Sorry, if I forgot about that but you see…

I always hate being called by the gods to do their stuff, and if I can avoid it…well, who am I to say no?

The rest of the class is visibly incensed, affronted or what-not. The wizard has his staff ready, but I…I can fight even with my hands occupied.

For I am the Dovahkiin.

"_**FUS-ROH-DAH**_!"

They fly. The mini-wizards and the staff wielder are sent flying backwards and hit the ground, as my Thu'um sounds out clear and strong in their midst. The girl in my arms goes limp.

Well, the kid in my arms goes limp: now that she's closer, I can see that she can't be more than fourteen or fifteen years old. She also does look sort of pale, and flat-chested. She doesn't weight much, so I actually swing her over one of my shoulders as I grab a better grip on my conjured long sword.

They said Conjuration was useless.

I shoved a Conjured sword up their guts for that.

I'm running before they can stop me, grabbing from my hip a small grey flask that I quickly drink. I turn invisible, the unconscious girl now looks like she's floating, and it's kind of funny I suppose to watch –if not highly traumatic for poor young maidens.

I smell the dung of horses before I can even see them, and soon I'm vaulting over one of their academy's horses, 'buying it' for the meager sum of zero Septims, or zero pieces of Gold.

The staff-wielder has actually recovered his wits by the time I'm spurring the horse out of there, pink girl knocked out cold on my lap. The mage is flying now, and I snort. Why is it that everyone knows the trick to flying except me? Dragon priests, necromancers, Dragons…why can't I learn it? Is there something against me flying around?

"_**TIID-KLO-UL**_," I roar to the heavens, and soon time slows. I conjure forth a bow in a moment, and the arrow is quickly summoned and launched. The bolt of arcane energy soars through the air, and slams against the wizard's chest. He seems to collapse after that, falling down on the ground. I don't actually look back at him, but spur the horse more.

I'm leaving behind a cloud of dust, as I gallop way out of there.

Sheogorath isn't around yet, but I'm not surprised. Whatever he wanted me to do probably will have to do with cheese, dancing or madness. I'll do what I always do when I deal with gods: I'll look around, try and find things to make myself more powerful, and eventually go and stick a sword through their guts.

It always works on humans, orcs, argonians…why can't it work on gods too?

I don't stop running until the sun is settling, and I watch with half-amazement at the new firmament of stars I'm seeing.

There is no warrior, wizard or rogue constellation. There are no stars to guide my path. There simply…there's nothing but pretty lights. They hold no meaning to my heart.

I was born beneath the sign of the Wizard in Cyrodiil, and the constellation I followed was that of the Warrior in Skyrim. Here…here there are no choices.

The girl moans a bit as I heft her down from the horse and against a tree trunk. I don't have any rope to tie her, but then again I'm not much of a hostage-person. I either kill or give to someone else the duty with hostages. The girl doesn't take much to wake up and whip out some sort of strange stick. I ignore her and set up camp.

She screams something incoherent, and I don't understand half a word of it.

She keeps moving that stick of hers around, up to the point where she suddenly stands up and points it at my nose. I look at it: what is it supposed to be, a mini-staff for a mini-wizard? How cute can that be?

Cuddling cute, I suppose.

"Fus," I state plainly, and she goes falling backwards as her wand splinters to bits. She grits her teeth and moves her right hand to her back, before she stares at me with something akin to fear. Her mini-staff is nothing more than sawdust now, and she seems on the verge of crying.

I ignore her expletives as I grab one of my Skeever rations from one of my pockets, delighting myself with the wonderful remembrance of how I killed the particular rat from which I carved the bloody piece of flesh that I'm now eating contently.

The girl's stomach growls hungrily as I start a fire. I don't have a pot, but I grab a branch to pierce a few of the dried mushrooms I have on my person –half of those are poisonous, but it doesn't much matter since cooking them removes the risks of dying a horrible and painful paralyzing death.

I hand over the stick to the girl, who swats it away to fall on the ground.

I could take it back and eat it in front of her, but I just shrug and stand to tie the horse left unchecked until then to the nearest tree. It was an unneeded precaution, as the horse is just as trained as my old one. He's standing there, looking at me with dull eyes, the type of eyes that sort of just tell you 'Hey, I'm a horse, I don't care if you're a murderer, a saint, a necrophiliac, or Vivec himself turned god, just let me eat in peace and you can ride me wherever you want'.

I actually take offense to the term necrophiliac: vampires are undead creatures, but that doesn't mean I'm a necrophiliac!

It's just…let's face it: everyone has a dark period eventually, right? Well, my dark period was going steady with a vampire.

No, that was before marrying. I'm not someone who…ah, who am I kidding? As long as it had two legs, and wasn't an Argonian or a Khajiit or an Orc…well, I am an adventurer. You know, the profession kind of entails having a wife in every port, like the sailors.

And when you're cleaning yourself of dragon guts, you want to be doing this because there's a hot and sexy elf waiting for you back at home, or a strong Nord ready to rump for five hours straight.

You're not saving Skyrim from Alduin because 'it's the right thing'. You're doing it for the chicks and the money, the fame and the power.

The Gods may consider me their plaything, but hey…I'm going to milk this for all that is worth.

The girl has left the camp by the time I turn around, already gone gods know where. I shouldn't actually care but…well, you remember me going steady with a Vampire?

Yeah well…she taught me a few tricks.

My eyes turn red as I watch the life of the girl moving away, the girl now a bright yellow blur in a forest of blue. There are a few wolves nearing on her, probably attracted by the movement she's making…or the screams for help.

I sigh and grab my bow. I don't even need to move from where I am. I just fire, one shot after the other.

After the first shot, the rest of the pack disperses. Wolves are not stupid, or feral. They're actually pretty tame when you compare them to Saber Tigers. There's not much to say about the girl though: she has to be stupid.

She probably hasn't considered I could easily kill her if I wanted to.

I'm inclined in letting the young girl go about her daily night without help. I'm actually willing to, but then my treacherous brain decides that she resembles too much my daughter to simply let her die in a ditch somewhere in the forest.

It's short work walking towards her.

The fact Sheogorath actually takes that moment to reappear, running backwards on a round form of cheese…

Did I already say not to question the god of madness, if you want to retain your sanity?

Well, he's juggling with the Wabbajack on the tip of his nose, and even thought the terrain of the forest should make it impossible for him to keep a straight line…he actually can.

"Well then, Dragonborn!" Sheogorath exclaims. He has that sort of voice that just grates on my nerves, you know? The one I actually wouldn't mind silencing permanently. "Have you met your master?"

"My master?" I retort calmly.

"Sithis, the Void!" he makes a wide gesture towards the direction the girl is.

I know I shouldn't rise to the baits of the God of Madness but this…this is preposterous.

"She is Sithis?" I ask in disbelief. Yeah, that was a mistake.

"Are you calling me a liar!?" Sheogorath screams, before slowly starting to laugh. Oh, and the juggling balls become rat heads, just like that, for no reason. "I'm not a liar!" now the rat heads are lumps of coal. "I'm a god, gods can't lie."

"And that's written where?" I'm making the same mistake again: never bait a god, and never bait Sheogorath in particular.

"On the fine print on how to be a god of course!" he looks affronted. "Well, you've got to have asked yourself the question on where the hell has Sithis gone to, right?"

I haven't. I actually served the Brotherhood because…

It was only business.

There was no superior call of sorts, no 'ultra-veneration'. It was business, plain and simple. The fact Sithis was the patron didn't matter. I served because it was business, not of blind fanaticism.

My gaze wanders to where the girl is. "She is supposed to be the god of the void?"

"Well," Sheogorath hesitates, before starting to cough slightly. "She has the Void! Yeah, that's about right!"

"So…I'm supposed to?"

"Well, I thought to myself!" Sheogorath says as he jumps down from the cheese form that morphs into a deer which runs away in fright. If I were turned in a form of cheese, I'd run away too.

Sheogorath keeps on juggling as he walks next to me. "Poor Sithis has been trapped away, with no powers and his powers are gone elsewhere! So…so why not reunite those powers!?"

"I have to kill the girl?"

"What? No!" Sheogorath exclaimed. "You have to kiss the girl! And then kiss the masters of the other familiars of the Void…after you kill their familiars of course, or if you don't like the master you can kill him and kiss the new masters before they get a familiar, your pick. Anyway, go power of love!"

I blink. Then I remember I'm talking to Sheogorath.

Yeah, this is normality for him all right.

"Understood," I exhale slowly as I pick up my pace, leaving the god of madness behind.

"Nobody understands the madness but the madmen themselves!" he screams at my back, but this time around I ignore him.

I reach the girl just as she's about to all on the ground from fatigue. I grab her delicate frame and quirk my lips up as I watch with amusement her trying to fight. I'm a Nord, muscle-bound typical Viking that can usually shrug off a Dragon bite like it was a flea…and she is flailing and kicking around trying to get out of my grip.

The stupidity of people…

So, I have to kiss her.

This reminds me of Babette.

She was two-hundred years old though.

This girl is pretty much human. She actually stops fighting when I lift her up with both of my hands as if she were a newborn. She looks mightily pissed, but I actually don't need to do much. A kiss will do, and a kiss is what she'll get.

I kiss her on the forehead, and she starts flailing again. There, it should be done.

I turn to leave, only to see Sheogorath in the shadows putting his hand to his face and then moving his two hands to mimic a kiss on the lips.

I frown and I look back at the girl who obviously can't see the god of madness –maybe because I'm the only one slightly mad out of the two?

I drop the girl on the ground, and pin her with my right hand on her shoulders.

She freezes like a deer that catches an archer ready to fire hiding in the bushes.

I kiss her on the lips, before departing and looking once more back to Sheogorath, who actually smirks and brings up his thumb before disappearing.

I sort of feel dirty.

I'll find myself a whore later in the next town.

"D-Don't," she whimpers with tears in her eyes. Wait, is she finally speaking the tongue I know?

"Please, my…my father will pay you handsomely," she's pleading now. "Please don't…" she closes her eyes and looks sideways.

I frown and stand up.

That's when it hits.

It's…well, it's not as painful as trying out a bunch of 'new and exotic' alchemy ingredients of which the majority is poisonous, but it's not something nice anyway.

I don't feel any different, and I don't look any different. So the power of Sithis would be…

I don't actually see any type of power. If Sheogorath had me kiss a child for no reason but getting his usual kicks out of the system…

That would be just like him.

"Thank you," the girl's voice is quiet as she speaks. "You can't understand me, can you?"

I give her a puzzled look for a moment, and then slowly I try.

"Now I can."

She widens her eyes, and then stands up angrily.

"You! Do you know what you did, you commoner!? I am Louise Françoise Le Blanc de la Valliere! My father is a Duke and my mother is Karin the Heavy Wind! I am not–"

"Does your mother suffer from gas attacks?" I ask barely holding back my grin.

Silence falls around the girl and I. She's sort of looking affronted, and angry, and probably pissed off but…but it's kind of cute watching her try and fail to hurt me by punching me on the chest and ending up jumping around holding her hand in pain.

"You commoner!" she wails. "Why did I have to…to summon a barbarian!? Who are you anyway!?"

"You don't know me?" I ask curious about this. Everyone knows who I am in Skyrim, many newborns' have their first word be 'Dragonborn' after all. Their second is usually 'Daddy' and nine times out of ten it's actually correct.

You remember the saying of the sailor, right?

"Should I!?"

"I am…" I frowned. Should I actually say that my name is Dragonborn? 'Dovahkiin'? Should I call myself the hero of the Septim Dynasty? Should I invent a name for myself?

Then again, unless Sheogorath sends me back, I don't know what is going to happen to me. I need to find the other Void users, whatever they are and then kiss them after killing their familiars.

I just know it's going to be peachy.

The problem is: I don't know how many of them there are to kill. What if it was the entire academy?

There were quite a bit of people there…

"Yes?" the girl taps her foot on the ground, her face red in embarrassment. She has no idea who I am, and apparently she's trying to forget what happened earlier.

I'm not forgetting it though: I'm actually replaying it in my mind.

Like I do every time I'm about to kill someone.

"I don't have a name," I shrug.

"All right then," the girl, Louise was it? She grits her teeth and starts thinking. "Dog."

"No."

She stutters for a moment, but my gaze is murderous enough –coming from a murderer after all– that she relents.

"Reginald?"

"No," I frown in disgust.

"Gabriel?"

"No," I shake my head vividly.

"Robert?"

"Ugh."

"Thomas?"

"Never."

She starts to walk in circles, starting to ponder on what to call me until, after a few minutes, she has an idea judging by how her face lights up.

"I know!" she exclaims giddily. "I'll call you Vittorio!" Clapping her hands, she then adds. "It's the name of the Pope, so it's a holy name! It will temper your–"

I can't hold it, and so I release it before she finishes talking.

I start laughing like a madman, holding my sides as my laughter echoes throughout the night air. She called me like the pope? Like the head of a church?

Me?

The slaughterer of thousands in two lives?

Me? The Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, the Leader of the Companions, the Archmage of the Wizard College, the Leader of the Thieves' Guild? ME, the one who brought down the Vampire lords at the head of the Dawnguard, ME who battled the fake Dragonborn? ME, the one who turned Skyrim into a bloody battlefield and brought the might of the legion to bear on the Nords?

Me?

And that is my name now, isn't it?

Vittorio.

I am Vittorio.

I am the Dovahkiin…

...and my name is rich with irony.

**Author's notes**

**Just wanted to try my hand at a first person piece. Nothing more.**


	2. Some Things Stay the Same Everywhere

A Life Rich in Irony

Chapter Two

The girl is huffing and panting. She probably isn't used walking short distances in the woods. I'm used to it instead, since before buying my first horse –and then moving on to Shadowmere– I had to walk quite a bit. Somehow the guards always knew when I stole a horse from one of them.

Time spent in jail never was something funny, let me tell you that.

It helped that being a Nord I was the toughest and strongest –barring orcs, but they had no discipline for fist-fighting. Oh, and did I mention jails were unisex?

The good old times…

"Ahem," Louise spoke as we returned to camp, her hair ruffled and her clothes covered in leaves. "Familiar! Bring me back to the academy!"

I raise an eyebrow. "No."

She stutters for a moment, and I admit she looks sort of cute. Like my daughter when she's caught with her hands in the honey jar.

"Why not!? They'll be searching for me, and we have to clear this misunderstanding!" she exclaimed. "They'll believe you've kidnapped me!"

"Yes," I nod. "That's good."

"How is that good!?" Louise screamed. "Are you mad!? How can kidnapping a noble be anything good!?"

"Ransom is a nice way to start your life of crime," I reply with a shrug. "And it shows you what the right circles are."

"I don't believe it," the girl shook his head as she slumped down on the ground. "Only the Zero could have a familiar like this. Why couldn't you be a griffin or a dragon?"

"I kill dragons," I retort firmly. "I'll let you know that after the first dozens, they stop being a challenge." I gesture towards the dropped stick with the mushrooms on it. Now there are ants covering it, probably hungry themselves. "I suppose you won't eat this."

I grab it and, much to my surprise, the girl goes 'ew'.

Ants give the crunchiness that vegetables lack, so I'll never understand why some people don't like them. They also taste slightly salty, better than salt sometimes.

Her stomach growls once more. She blushes, hard, and then clenches her hands against her thighs. "I…wait," she blinks. "You kill dragons?"

"I said that?" I blink back. "Uh, nah, I don't."

"B-But! You said you killed them!"

"Well, if you say that I say that I kill dragons, then I'll let you say that," I nod. My right hand roams inside my leather pouches. Maybe I can find…oh, and here it is!

"Here," I say handing over one of my last remaining pieces of Skeever roast. "A bit stale, but it's well preserved."

She takes the meat with wariness, but ends up eating it all the same. She frowns for a moment as she gives a hesitant bite, but in the end she eats it all and even licks her fingers.

She blushes more after that.

"Was that pork?"

I smile.

"I…I think I don't want to know," she hastily adds. My smile drops. "Hey," she suddenly says. "Can…can you tell me what you intend doing with me?" her voice is low and frightened now, maybe she is finally realizing the situation she is in.

"We're going on a trip," I remark firmly. "We have to find others like you," I say. "And then I'll leave."

"What do you mean? You're my familiar," Louise whispered. "You're supposed to stay until you die or the wizard who summoned you does."

"Ah," I smile. "That's not a problem."

She shudders.

"You're not going to kill me, are you?"

"No," I shake my head. "Not yet. You're what, fourteen? I don't kill kids."

"I'm seventeen!" she huffed. I blinked. I looked at her carefully once more, before slowly asking.

"Do you have vampires in your family?"

"W-What sort of question is that!?"

I shrug. "I knew a vampire girl once, she looked barely past twelve but she was two hundred years old."

"W…Vampires don't exist!"

"They do from where I come from," I remark easily. I should actually have a few vials of Porfyria in my pockets. Nothing gives you a reasonable excuse to kill someone you hate as turning him into a vampire, watch him eat his entire family and then 'rightfully' kill him in plain daylight.

The best thing? If you're quick enough you can save the widow and then leisurely console her later.

"And where do you come from? You're a barbarian, but your skin tone isn't that of Germania…are you from Gallia?"

"Skyrim," I reply. "It's a land far away. You wouldn't have heard of it."

"Do all barbarians in Skyrim act like you?" Louise's voice was soft as she spoke. She was shivering, probably from fright rather than the cold –then again with my Nordic blood I simply didn't _feel_ it.

"No," I shrug. "Many act worse. I've seen a few doing some things…unspeakable." The orcs especially are mean with their children. Sending their toddlers to battle with an axe twice their size and expecting them to survive the onslaught? Imbeciles, that's what the green skin are.

The girl nodded meekly, before shuffling her feet on the ground. "What now?"

"Now you sleep," I say firmly. "I stand guard, and tomorrow we'll be off to the city."

I calmly bring up Mephunes' Dagger to gleam in the moonlight. "And if you _try_ to run…_I will find you_."

She hugs herself after my words, falling defeated on the ground near the fire and taking up a fetal position. Is she really that cold? I sigh as I grab from my backpack a blanket. My horse had much of my stuff: I'm stuck without my heavy weapons, my heavy armor, my general 'awesomeness condensed in packs'. Technically speaking, I had everything for every occasion. Now I'll have to make due with 'Nearly everything for every occasion'.

I'll need to restock on alchemical supplies…and around me _there is a forest_.

The next morning, the girl wakes up warily. I can sense her waking up, especially because I was bored half-way through the night and began dangling my dagger a few inches away from her face.

She stares at it in shock. The tip is barely an inch away from her nose when I remove it slowly. "Let's move."

My words snap her out of her fright induced paralysis…and bring her in a fear induced coma.

She faints with her eyes rolling backwards, and that simply makes me grumble. Why can't she take a dagger in the face like everyone else? I remember my youngest: she always tries to grip the blade with her tiny digits! Of course the blade's poisoned, so I generally avoid letting her touch it but…ehi, she even giggles when she sees the dagger glint!

I hoist the girl on the horse and pack up camp, before mounting the animal myself and starting to make my way in a lazy trot on the road. Many would think that a guy dressed in black with a girl fainted on his knees would be worthy of investigation, but let me tell you that the occasional merchant that crosses you –even if you're carrying an elven maiden to your dark necromancer lair– never generally stops to look at you. For one thing, it's not their business.

Secondly, they pretty much know the guy dressed in black can rip them apart with but a movement of his hand: thus they just go on and mumble something about 'Guards not being here now'.

Heroes don't exist in bulk: how else can you explain the shitload of stuff I had to do otherwise?

The fun thing about the city is that the guards standing watch are just two. You know what they say about two guards in front of a gate?

That they're two guards soon to be deceased.

In Cyrodiil, one had to kill to ensure the Dark Brotherhood would know of your actions and call you forth to test your worth.

In Skyrim, I had to meet Aventus Arrentino and kill an orphanage granny –the orphanage _woman_ on the other hand…well, there were quite a few comfortable beds around there and the kids were always out playing.

"So," I dismounted from the horse, leaving the girl hoisted on like a back of potatoes with the blanket covering her. "I'm going through and I am not the guy you are looking for."

The guards would retort, if not for the bag of gold that suddenly ends up in their hands.

Always have at least five hundred coins to go with.

You can pay off a murder if you're caught –although if you're caught because of _murder_, then you shouldn't be a murderer to begin with.

The two actually look at one another and then turn the blind eye towards me as I enter.

The horse follows me with his docile behavior, and the shady part of town soon admits me to its secrets. The shanty buildings are either on the outskirts of the city or pressed up against the walls, they're made of wood and nine times out of then they are also highly inflammable. How do I know that? Well…Fireball misshapen.

I still blame the Alto Wine in my body that night.

It doesn't take much to find what I'm looking for: a dingy old pub with an ill reputation.

I don't care about the reputation or the fact it's a pub. I care that it's an _old_ pub. It means someone's protecting the owner from 'changing' hands, because there's something going on deep beneath it.

They can call me murderer, hero, dovahkiin…but I'm also the Guild leader of two Thieves' guild…one two hundred years of difference from the other, but both undoubtedly 'thief-like'.

I park the horse outside, grabbing my stuff and hoisting the girl on my shoulder. I give a simple look to the kids outside, looking at me as if I were a mark.

I crackle my free hand with a spark of electricity and gesture at the horse. "You know a good fence, boy?" my voice is gruff and rough, but I then throw him a gold piece which he deftly catches. "Stealing from wizards always makes me thirsty." I wink at him.

"Yeah man!" the boy replies laughing, shoulder-bumping his associates. "We know that. Nobleman caught with his pants down?" he stares at the gold coin for a moment, before biting it and feeling apparently satisfied.

Even if the form is different, gold is gold and it makes the world go round.

"That one it is! When they're taking a shit in the woods they never check for the bushes nearby! It's my lucky day and I feel generous. Got myself a horse and all," I tap on the blanket that is covering Louise on my shoulder. "So?"

"We can take care of it if you want," one of them chuckles. "Horses sell well. Nobles are too dumb to find out. My brother sold a horse three times to the same guy, stealing it back every night."

"That had to be a dumb bastard," I retort. "Well, if you tell me the fence and hang around, I'll give you a cut and a drink later on."

The older one nods. If I had 'given them the task' they'd have just disappeared with the horse. In this world beneath the shadows nothing's for free and everything has a price.

"Inside, look for Magritte," the one I gave the gold coin to says. "Say Tim and Tam sent you and are your friends. He'll make you a nice price."

I shrug. "Good to know. You prefer mead or wine, boys?"

"Wine!" they chorus as I enter the pub. The wench serving at the tables is an old and scraggly looking woman. She looks every bit like one of those tired Imperials who ended up in Skyrim by mistake with the Legion, and never managed to leave.

Her hair is grey and dirty, matted with sweat. "Ehi you," I gesture to the wench rudely. "Where's my friend," I place a gold coin in her greasy palm. "My friend known as Magritte?" I whisper.

She looks to the corner of the pub, and I know I'm on the right track. "Bring the boys outside a friend known as Wine," I hand her two gold coins, and her eyes widen like saucers. "And don't give them the washed up stuff…or I'll know."

I'm off to the corner and the irony is not lost.

When I entered, everyone stopped to look at me for a moment, to look at my cowl, my dark leather armor, my gauntlets…they sized me like I was a prey. I spoke the tongue they all shared, and they went back to their business a moment later. That and probably the dagger I casually began to fondle the handle of were a great help.

Magritte is a sleazy looking maggot-infested man. He seems more like a leper or one suffering from bone-wracking fever than an actual fence…which means he's good at his job.

If you just have to look at someone and say 'he's shady' then he's a poor fence, a horrible actor and an imbecile.

And also a soon to be dead person depending on whom he fenced the goods off to.

"My good friends Tim and Tam sent me," I remark as I gently drop the blanket and Louise on the other side of the table.

He gives a glance to the girl and sighs. "I don't take slaves. They're too costly to keep."

"Ah, no," I shake my head. "She isn't for sale. The horse outside is."

He stands and walks outside. He returns a few moments later and says firmly. "He'll be fifty Ecus."

"Gold coins?"

He nods at that.

"I want seven-hundred, my good friend."

A light green fog covers him a moment later.

I was an Imperial first, and the Voice of the Emperor…wait. I can use that now?

It's…It's back!

My voice! My _VOICE_!

"Of course, here," he hands them over quickly, and I smile brightly to him before standing up and leaving. I return just in time to grab Louise –I was nearly leaving her there!

The girl is still out cold, but that won't do.

We're not having breakfast here, and so we leave by the door leaving behind a befuddled fence –while I enjoy rat, I doubt Louise can stomach it.

The boys outside have already removed the raiment from the horse, and are currently dirtying it and taking away patches of fur to give him a different look.

The beast's accusing eyes are settled squarely on me as I hand over five coins to older guy of the troop.

A cut is a cut, and while they can believe the fence paid me fifty –I have no doubt they know what price the fence gives usually– I will keep the rest of the six-hundred ninety five coins with me.

It's nice to be smart.

I walk, but this time I move Louise on my shoulders and cover her up with the blanket in such a way that it resembles more me carrying a small child, than me being the kidnapper of a seventeen year old girl.

She's so small! How can she be seventeen? Does she eat enough?

Maybe her parents mistreat her? Poor thing! I knew a friend of my daughter was beaten by her father.

Her father died in the night.

Mysteriously.

Then her mother had another child.

Mysteriously once more.

There always were these mysteries in Skyrim…you never knew who could drop dead…or pregnant.

My steps took me to a decent looking whorehouse.

You want a nice meal and no questions asked? Whorehouses.

And if you feel your bed is cold, you can get someone to warm it for you.

"Hello! Welcome to the Fairy Charming Inn!" the girl who meets me at the entrance gives a frowning look towards my baggage. I smile sweetly.

"My daughter was tired from the trip," I say gently. The girl smiles and nods. "Of course!" she's wearing a frilly dress that I would see well on one of those sexy Daedra from Shivering Isles. Then again she isn't lacking curves, like the rest of the waitress around here are and…

"Sheogorath!" I exclaim pointing my finger at the only man dressed strange enough that if he isn't the god of madness then I don't know who he is.

"Uh? Non! Non! I am Scarron, the owner of the inn!" the man moves forward, showing his…flat chest, his belly button, his tight purple shirt and the lipstick on his mouth.

"Mi Mademoiselle!" a waitress exclaims from a corner, "The client needs a bath!"

"Of course!" he claps his hands. "I'll take care of it! Wait here darling!" he gestures to me, pointing to an empty table at the same time. "I'll be right back!"

I kind of sigh in defeat and take my seat. Just as I do, cheese appears on the plate near me.

"You called?" the cheese asks.

"No."

"All right," the cheese disappears.

I'm done saying Sheogorath's name.

As I wait for a waitress, I start to hum. "Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart. I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes," I sing as I look around the inn.

"With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art. Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes." The people start to leave.

"It's an end to the evil, of all Skyrim's foes. Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes." Scarron makes the last client leave and then smiles and then has the waitresses move to distract and _entertain_ me. I know a trap when I see one, but then again…I feel nice, humming to myself.

"For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows." I sing a bit louder, as the doors open and the guards stroll in. These are wearing mantles with the symbol of the Fleur da Lys, and are apparently all females.

"You'll know, You'll know the Dragonborn's come…"

And as I finish singing, a purple haired woman dressed in white steps in, with a small mantle and a mace in scepter in her hand. I grin and by the time I'm done smiling, Mephunes' dagger is at Louise's throat. The girl is still knocked out –she had to be a heavy sleeper, that's all the explanation I can find about it.

"Unhand Louise Françoise this instant," the woman speaks. "You are surrounded, Kidnapper."

"I'm not a Kidnapper," I reply calmly, "I'm a Woman-Napper. I nap with women." I wink. "My, how many women do we have here?"

"You don't want to fight your way out, scum," the leader of the females barks, taking out a strange tube-like thing. "Don't make us shoot you down. From this distance, I can't miss."

"Really?" I smile. Is that a crossbow? Maybe it's one with a small arrow.

"Why don't we all sit down and have a nice chat?" I ask. "I'm in a good mood after all! No need for bloodshed, right?"

"Right," the purple haired woman nods firmly as she walks forward.

"Your Grace, you can't!" the blond haired female that looks like a male exclaims then, "It's…"

"Agnes," the Jarl-Girl remarks, "I can take care of myself…and this Kidnapper holds Louise Françoise hostage: there is no way I will not intervene for a peaceful solution if one can be found."

The girl then sits down in front of me. "I am Princess Henrietta de Tristain, ruler to be of Tristain. Today is the day of the Void, a holy day. There should be no blood shed on this day."

"Really?" I smile. "How nice to know! Nicer still would be…how you knew where to find me. You came from the gutter didn't you girl?"

My eyes aren't on the captain of the guard. They aren't even on the Princess. They're on the dark skinned girl which looks like a Redguard that stands slightly behind the others, as if she didn't truly believe she belonged with them.

"You've got ears in the ground," I smile. "I like that! Always keep an ear on the ground," I wink. "And never come unprepared."

"I have given you my name, but I have yet to hear yours," Henrietta states with a firm tone, but I can feel her wariness. She believes I'm mad. I'm not. I'm just fooling around to keep her on her toes, to unnerve her and I'm actually managing that quite easily.

"I am Vittorio!" I proclaim proudly. "Vittorio of Skyrim and familiar to this girl here," I nudge my right hand's index into Louise's cheek. She still doesn't budge. Then again, if she did then my dagger would probably prick her skin and kill her.

"You lie," the Jarl-Girl states, "No human can be a familiar, not since Founder Brimir and Gandalfr was there…"

"I am who I say I am," I shrug. "Believe or not believe, it won't change the truth." I move the dagger away from Louise's neck and pinch her on the thigh strongly.

She jerks up screaming suddenly, making all the guards tense. Louise looks around like a lost lamb, before narrowing on me. "Vittorio!? Wh…Princess? Your…Where are we!? Why are we surrounded!?"

"They think I kidnapped you," I reply firmly in a serious stone. "They don't believe I'm your familiar," I add smoothly.

"Louise Françoise?" Henrietta speaks hesitantly. "Is what this man said true? Is he your familiar?"

"I…" she stutters, before giving a hesitant nod. The fact I'm quietly pointing my second dagger at her sides makes it even more hesitant and convincing.

Henrietta sighs in relief. "God gracious! What extraordinary circumstance this is!"

"Your majesty!" Agnes barks. "You can't believe…"

"Now, now," the princess smoothly says interrupting her housecarl. "It was all a big misunderstanding," she then turns to look at me. "And you are a bad familiar for having made such a heavy joke."

"Oh?" I bring up my right eyebrow. Is she actually thinking what I'm thinking this is all about?

It might just be.

Oh, it might just be.

"Indeed," Henrietta nods. "Guards? Leave us alone. Agnes? Give a hefty recompense to the man for having emptied his inn in the middle of the day and tell him to go…somewhere else."

"You're as subtle as a fiddle, first time trying an underhanded deal?" I comment calmly with a lazy grin on my face. The Jarl has the decency to blush as the guards leave, but I can see the girl's housecarl is in wait outside the doors, ready to burst in at a moment's glance.

"Princess?" Louise asked, perplexed.

"Louise Françoise," Henrietta whispered. "You must forgive this shameful princess for what she has done."

"All right," I clap my hands. "Who did you fuck?"

There is a moment of silence where I stare at both of them, before blinking. "What? It's true! Do you have any ideas how many times I heard those lines? It's like every women I go to be with must have their husband walk in on the scene! 'Oh honey you must forgive your shameful wife for what she has done!' So I have to ask…rather than the who…was he any good at it?" I wiggle my eyebrows.

Louise turns red. Like, really red. She tries to fumble for her mini-staff but since I destroyed it…well, good chance trying to convince the splinters to work well.

The princess-Jarl whatever is actually coughing and looking sideways. "I require your help in sending a message to someone," she said then crisply.

"Of course your Highness!" Louise is already kneeling on the ground and looking at me angrily. I just shrug and chuckle.

"They will be deep in Albion, the floating continent," she continues, "and in the castle of Lord Wales and what little of his loyal forces he still has."

"So I have to kill him?" I ask then, only to get a strangled gasp back at me. "So I don't have to kill him. You want me to send him a message and you don't want me to kill him? I have to torture him then?"

"No!" Henrietta let out a strangled gasp. "I have a letter to send him!"

"Ah…a letter," I nod calmly. "Poisoned?"

"No," Henrietta shakes her head firmly. "Louise Françoise, is your familiar…this bloody?"

"Your highness…I think he's not entirely sane."

"I'm still here and I can hear you!" I rebuke them, before standing up and slamming one of my spare knifes on the table's surface.

"If you want her help," I point at Louise, "Feel free to send her to die alone. If you want _my help_, you'll have to do it my way, but you'll be able to plead plausible deniability if I were captured." I cough slightly, as I let the cowl come down to reveal my Nordic features. I'm sure she's already wet: I've got blond hair, blue eyes, a scar on the right cheek which gives me a rugged handsome look and a twinkle in my eyes that shows I know humor...I'm the perfect catch. "There is a ritual to be done to call forth my services," I remark. "And a price to be paid." I bring the cowl back up to cover my features.

"This is to me, after all…"

I smile at the punch line.

"_Only business_."

"I understand," Henrietta nods slowly as she takes the knife. "It requires blood?"

"Princess! You can't!" Louise's hand is up, but I deftly catch her by the wrist.

"No, Louise Françoise," Henrietta shakes her head. "He is your familiar, but…if as he says he works on business alone, then money will not be a problem."

"The ritual is important too," I deadpan. "Without it, the Unholy Matron cannot come and call upon me."

"Unholy matron?" Louise's mouth is trembling. "Are you a demon cultist!? No! I can't have summoned a…"

"Oh would you please shut up," I sigh as I plant my hand firmly on her mouth. "Am I talking to you, girl?" I snarl. "I'm talking to the princess, who has something so dangerous in mind that she was willing to give her trust to me, a perfect stranger, if simply because of my association with you. _So be quiet and let her speak_."

Louise's eyes grow tears, but I let her be teary as I nod towards Henrietta, who shudders before starting her tale.

"I need a letter delivered to Prince Wales of Albion and…would you be able to kill someone too?"

"I can," I nod firmly. "But the ritual must be done separately for each of the tasks assigned."

"I want you to kill the leader of the Reconquista," Henrietta's eyes grow hard as she speaks, and I smirk inwardly at that. "And I…" she bites her lips for a moment, "There is something else," she shudders and trembles. "The Germanian prince I am set to marry…he is a brute. His younger brother would be…easier to suffer from."

"A letter to someone holed up in a castle," I muse out loud. "A death for a leader of rebels and a death for a Germanian prince…" I smile. "Very well…Those will bring out the true infamy of the Dark Brotherhood in this land," I grin as I finally tell the woman what the ritual entails.

"You will go back home, find a suitable room shrouded in darkness and there you will craft with human body parts the effigies of those you wish killed. You will use that dagger coated in this plant's oil," I procure from one of my pocket a nightshade, "and then…then you will intone as follows."

"_Sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear._" As I speak, the lights around the room seem to dim ever so slightly. The fire pit crackles and the flames lower themselves down to mere smoldering ashes.

A cold breeze picks up, as I smile wickedly to the paling princess.

"And once you have done so…you will take accords with the Unholy Matron herself for the deal…and she will come to me, her Listener…and I will deal with it as I see fit." Louise's body is now beyond freezing point, as I can see her breath condense from the cold that surround us.

"Remember these words," I intone then calmly.

"What is life greatest Illusion? Innocence, my brother." The windows look murky, the sun's rays barely filter through even though they were spotless when I first entered with Louise.

"What is the music of life? Silence, my brother." As I finish speaking the passphrase to enter the sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood in Cyrodiil, the sun is seemingly clouded by a storm.

It is but an instant, and the next the light is back to its blinding strength. Henrietta winces as she slowly and hesitantly hides the knife in her vest, while Louise looks completely traumatized by what she has seen.

"Who are you?" Henrietta asks in the end.

"I am…many things," I reply calmly. "I am too many to say and to remember." I nod slowly towards Louise's direction. "I am also a familiar of the Void. Sithis himself…he bestows upon me his powers," I flex my hands. "For I am his most powerful child," I add.

I stand up then, grabbing Louise by the shoulders and lifting her from the ground.

"Listen to me child: _I will be back for you_, and together we will find the other users of the void. I can make you powerful, child. More powerful than anyone else in this world could…All I ask is that when the time comes," I let her on the ground, "You remember my words."

And then I make a small bow in their direction…and slip out in the shadows.

Actually, I just move towards a corner and crouch down, letting the Chameleon spell do the rest as they go into the usual 'shocked' mode of 'Where the hell did he go!?'

Lucien Lachance taught me that trick.

I should try and summon him and tell him the good news: we've got a new outpost! Well, a new area of influence.

And I'm already the first member!

He'd be proud of me, I'm sure.

If it weren't for the fact I got him killed…

I'm sure he doesn't carry a grudge for that, after all it's not like he can connect the dots between this Nord form and the past Imperial one now, can he?

I hold myself from laughing when I see the guards enter and look around befuddled.

Silently, I crouch and follow straight from behind the princess the 'procession' that brings her back in her palace.

Literally: I'm hiding behind her and nobody sees me.

I always said that being invisible was the first thing to learn in the world…

And here I go: I'm in a palace. A royal palace filled with gold, silver, and what-not.

That's when the Kleptomaniac side of me starts to act up.

…

Eh…

I just know I'll need a bigger sack.

**Author's notes**

**Another chapter out.**


	3. Fun Things and Mysteries Everywhere

A Life Rich in Irony

Chapter Three

I admit my first thought of the palace was that it looked like the home of a _sissy_.

Then again, this was _not_ Skyrim nor was it the Empire, and thus I couldn't actually state of having travelled many of this world's palaces…but _this_ one? There were _delicate_ tapestries, _delicate_ paintings, _delicate_ columns…heck, give me a warhammer and I'm pretty sure I can bring it all down in a roaring act of wanton destruction in less than a _day_.

While I could have gone and eavesdropped on the princess' conversation with Louise, my thoughts went on finding the royal treasury first.

I wasn't going to _steal_ their gold mind you. Just _buy_ it at a bargain price of _zero_. It also added to the thrill of living doing things the gods didn't expect. Like that time Azura wanted me to give her back the Grand Soul? I turned it _black_ and kept it. I still have it. I think there is a soul inside belonging to someone, but I can't remember who. Maybe it's Mannimarco's…now _that_ would be _ironic_.

Maybe it's Alduin himself. Now that would be a bigger joke, because I had to kill him, brutally, in the realm where all dead dragons go.

He just _didn't know_ the meaning of 'staying dead' until I slammed my swords down his guts and devoured his soul.

Anyway, I'm sure you all wonder 'how does he know where the gold is?' and the answer is simple: the gold is always in the most dark, cramped and musty place —possibly hidden by a fake wall or a large steel door covered in dwarven runes. Oh the good old times with the Dwarven Locks…

I hated those things, but the ghost of the dead adventurer? Her body was hot. I admit I _enthralled_ the idea for a while, if you know what I mean…

Really, the spell 'Enthrall' was _dead_ useful.

I flinch at myself as I slowly make my way down the stairs and towards the cellars: I must stop it with these morbid jokes. I should tell them in the _dead_ of the night, amongst the other _deadly_ boring people I meet with usually at that time.

All right, I think it's time to find where in the cellars those hidden passages are. Now, I know some of you might think 'How? What trick will the all-mighty Dragonborn use?' and the answer is simple.

_TCL_.

To Call Lucien.

I recall the spell that binds Lucien Lachance's soul to my hand and snap my fingers. The next moment, the freezing aura of death appears in the room, soon followed by the pale and ghostly appearance of the once Hand of the Dark Brotherhood of Cyrodiil.

"Listener," he intones. "You have called me…wait a moment," he blinks. He looks around surprised. "Where are _we_? I knew someone like you who enjoyed going in strange places…but this? This beats them all. And why do you feel like having a piece of Sithis in you now? Is there something you're not telling me? Uh?"

"Find the vault of this palace Lucien," I sigh shaking my head. "Come on now. Use your 'I can turn invisible and walk through walls' ability."

"What do you take me for? A summoned Daedra?" he shows me his 'angry' face, but I just scoff. First thing, I can destroy him as many times as I need to, and he knows that. Secondly, the spell is so much ironclad tight that not even him, who is supposed to be the 'magnum persona' of the Dark Brotherhood's history barring the Unholy Matron herself, can weasel out from.

Basically? I'm in a tight steel barrel, and I enjoy _rolling_ in it.

He grumbles and sets to work as I crouch and hid in the shadows. It takes me a few moments to let my eyes adjust to the dark completely, and when they do, I can see the ghost's ethereal hand waving at me from halfway through a wall near a wine keg.

"Here, Listener!" he hisses at me. "This keg's empty, and there's a passage behind!"

I sigh and I decide to follow him.

Now, I could keep on talking about how 'going in the unknown covered in cobwebs' is exciting, but after the hundred elven ruin, the two-dozen dwarven ones, the ancient Draugr ones and the Dragon Priests ones…oh, and the areas beneath the forts and what-not…exploring new and dark areas? _Boring_.

First things first when exploring a strange place? Rule of the Dragonborn number one: _Fight the system_.

You _don't_ need to disarm a trap if you can jump over the wire —barring having an idiotic housecarl who just can't learn how to _jump_. You don't need to worry about 'spikes' coming from the side if you're _fast_ enough. You don't need to worry about the flame jets if you just so casually have a ring of fire immunity on.

People want their dungeons easy to walk through, because they are supposed to be habitable places: if you can't avoid a trap somehow, then you're doing something _wrong_.

Of course, when you reach the end and discover there was a conveniently hidden secret backdoor you start cursing loudly…but that's another story.

I push the keg's wooden panel aside —and it easily gives away, meaning it was well oiled— and I can hear the humming of Lucien as he floats ahead of me, slicing at rats the size of my boots —which means little, and easily called by the normal Nordic family 'oh, look! Snacks!'

I crawl through the passage, reaching the other side and smiling to myself as I find out what this place really is: it's not a vault filled with money.

No, it's _way_, _way_ better.

It's a safe-house with a direct road to the outside. One of the things nobility has when everything goes south and they have to 'run with dignity'. I've found my way out of the palace, but most importantly, like all safe houses…it holds small wooden stairs and hallways that go through the walls to spy upon the rest of the palace and reach the rooms of the royalty.

I'm walking through one of the corridors —avoiding the boring 'look at the maids changing and touching one another boobs'— when I hear the soft sniffling sound that can only come from a broken heart. I carefully look through a well-placed portrait's eyes, only to see a beautiful looking woman with purple hair crying with her face burrowed on the side of the bed.

She's dressed royally, and her corset is tight enough that I swear her already melon-sized breasts look far more fuller and milky-like than ever. She's got the same facial features as the Princess…

So this must be the queen.

"Oh, Henry," the queen sobs. "Why? Why did you leave me alone?"

I'm…Well, you know I'm a _good_ guy deep down.

And this act? This act it's years since I last could play it.

I'm smiling to myself as I look around the room for the portrait of the deceased, when I mentally smack myself mentally after a moment: of course the 'seeing' portrait belongs to the king. This makes it even better.

"Don't cry," I whisper with a hoarse throat as Lucien looks at me and rolls his eyes. I gesture at him to get lost and he disappears.

"Henry?" the woman sniffles a bit, looking around surprised. "Henry, is that you?"

"It is I," I reply. _I'm not lying_. I am _myself_ after all…so if I say that I am I…who is she to say I'm not myself?

"Your voice sounds different," she begins with doubt. I unclasp the nice concoction known to me a 'Ghost Form' and that I took from an imbecile who set up camp in the midst of an abandoned crypt near Ivarstead.

I give it a gulp and suddenly I'm _seemingly_ incorporeal.

"Close your eyes and I will come to you," I reply with my voice now spectral like.

She actually does so, clasping her hands together. I swing aside the portrait and emerge, before giving a quick look at the man shown on the other side. Meh, I'm better: the guy's short, half-bald and with dark curly hair. He also looks small compared to me.

I smirk and place a Mesmerizing Grasp on the Queen, soon followed by the Voice of the Emperor.

Said Voice is also known as the 'Yes, please' ability. The one no Imperial citizen may use when attempting to court a lady.

Also the ability makes sure the myth of Imperials being 'refined and cultured' remains. No Imperial ever swung a double-handed axe to break the head of a Daedra while screaming curses to the Nine Divines…no sir, no Imperial ever did that.

That's why when she opens her eyes again it doesn't matter if I'm actually a spectral ghost of a Nord with blond hair and blue eyes. She falls beneath my wily charms and my wonderful humour and…

Well, a scene happens that involves removing a corset with a dagger —Mephunes would never believe how many time his dagger was used to remove clothes, rather than slice throats— then moving the sheets apart and taking care of what nature calls the 'Primary Function of a man and a woman in bed'.

By the time I'm done the night has come, and she's not the only thing that has.

I snicker to myself as I finish dressing.

"Will I see you again, my champion?" the queen says with a wistful face.

"Of course, queen of my heart," I reply smoothly —whoever said going to the bard college was a waste of time died a virgin, poor and possibly then resurrected by an orc necromancer, a _necrophiliac_ orc necromancer.

"What is your name, champion of my heart?" she asks to me fluttering her eyelashes.

"Vittorio, your beautifulness," I smile and step back in the shadows, "Do not forget it."

Then I crouch and watch as the woman simply lays down on the bed and sighs wistfully. I leave just as she falls asleep, closing the portrait behind me and then subtly making my way through the palace's hidden hallways in search for…

I freeze on the spot.

The chill I hear is powerful.

The words whispered are right.

"Child," the Unholy Matron whispers suavely to the side of my ear. "My dearest child," she gleefully says. "You make me proud."

"Sweet mother," I whisper back as I watch my very breath condense to fog and freeze, letting small drops of ice then fall on the ground. "I am at your command."

"Go then, for this task one thousand gold coins will be given onto you as the missions are completed. You will find Prince Wales at Newcastle, in the floating island of Albion, to the Far East edge of it. Be mindful of whom you may cross paths with, as you will find Oliver Cromwell, the leader of the Reconquista, encircling the castle of the royalists. Your final target, Albrecht the Third…you will meet him on the day of the marriage."

I nod and can barely contain my glee. I feel the Unholy Matron's hands slip with their cold touch a letter in my breast pocket —the one I have to deliver, I suppose. "Any special objectives, my Beautiful Unholy Lady?"

"Flattery will get you everywhere, but deaths will get you _more_," the Unholy Matron replied. "There is an orphanage in Albion. Some orphans are old enough to begin training as Dark Brotherhood _sons_. Introduce them to the family…and I will be _pleased_…or bring them among the thieves, and maybe Nocturnal will make you a visit."

"I will enjoy this, my lady." I reply truthfully, because I know I will.

It's late, but the shadows have always been my realm: really, sometimes I didn't sleep for days in the end as I explored Cyrodiil and then later on Skyrim. I was especially jumpy the first time I went to bed after mistakenly killing an innocent —and receiving the first Cryptic message of the Dark Brotherhood. Really…

Some things just plain traumatize you never to go to sleep again.

The first time you wake up with a lunatic dangling a dagger in your face? You scream like a girl —yes, I was still young and naïve at the time! Don't attack me before knowing the full story, all right? And the second time you end up in a shack with torture instruments, a bondage-dressed woman who tells you that you have a debt to repay and three guys to kill.

Well…

The first time around, I went with it out of curiosity.

The second time, I killed all three and used their souls to enchant my shoes to be more sneaky.

I liked to think that whenever I walked with those boots I was actually stepping on them —sometimes at night I swear I heard them moan about it…I had enchanted my slippers after all.

Comfortable furred slippers.

Damn. I'm missing my slippers.

Anyway, I'm out of the palace with ease —cue safehouse having a secret passage outside because yes, a safehouse needs an exit to the outside. This one is a trapdoor outside the palace, in a dingy looking back alley that smells of urine and dung.

I ignore the lecherous looks of a few 'private' whores who have 'fluctuating' prices depending on wherever you are the one holding a sword to their guts or their protectors are the one holding a dagger to your back.

"Yes, went there and done that," I say to one catcalling me. "No I doubt you can suck lollipops better that this girl I used to know," Babette…she was a vampire: that had to give some sort of _bonus_ for those things, right?

I know my soul will be going straight to whatever hell there is for 'all-fuckers' but…who _cares_? I can do it, and you _can't_. So if you're _jealous_…your problem, not mine.

We can solve it in the honourable Skyrim fashion: a duel. Of course I will poison my swords so that when the duel ends you die a painful death the next minute…but that's just me rambling, ignore me.

Walking out of the whore sector, I'm back in the Fairy Charming Inn…and this time around, the clients don't leave as I sit down at the counter.

"Something cold, bartender!" I snap my fingers at the frilly dressed girl. I'm spent for the day, but my stamina is not something easy to keep down. Let me tell you I'm actually thinking about 'buying a bath' when Scarron comes into my line of sight.

Yes. That would make even a Khajit in heat drop _dead_ or ask for _neutering_.

You know, Khajit have 'theirs' barbed. It's written in the uncensored book of Alexia's history…which was then censored because the world is made of prudes.

Yet they let the 'Lusty Argonian Maid' out without censors —those horrible monsters of the Imperial Writing Organization!

The point is: when it's barbed and in heat, it tends to 'hook' to their pants…painfully so. Sometimes it happened I fought guys like those and let me tell you…a frothing lunatic-eyed Khajit in heat? I actually ran once, because the fully-grown humanoid feline had begun _humping_ _my leg_.

Some scars you never recover from…and to this day, my brain still believes the star-shaped scar on my left leg belongs to a dart from a crossbow.

And if anyone says anything different, well, they tend to die.

That's another mystery of Skyrim by the way.

"Monsieur!" Scarron exclaims bringing his hands to his face. "I am truly sorry for this morning!"

"Don't worry yourself, good man," I say with a hesitant smile. If he dares to try and touch me, I'll gut him. I swear on the nine divines that if he ever tries something like that I'll gut him like a pig and the spit-roast him over the fire with a Hellfire Storm.

"Oh but I insist I repay you of your troubles!" Scarron claps his hands. "Would you like a bath, free of charge?"

I blink. I should say no. Baths require being naked. Being naked requires losing your stuff to thieving hands.

I should come here on a day where I'm free and without important stuff like a giant black soul gem that can suck in any soul or the dagger belonging to a Daedric prince which I actually enraged once…a long time ago.

"Maybe another day," I remark. "A beer would be fine."

"Understood! Quick my fairy Jessica, a beer for our most handsome dark stranger!" Scarron clapped his hands noisily, attracting the bustiest girl in his bar —a raven haired and slightly tanned female with dark eyes and a coy smirk on her lips. I smiled back at her, flashing my perfect teeth —a life of fish, meat and vegetables with little to no sweets will do that to you, and Dental Care hints from vampire friends, those too work miracles.

The beer is foamy and goes down nicely, but it's not actually _strong_. I move on to wines, feigning my tipsiness and what-not. The girl's good: she touches slightly every now and then, trying to place her fingers in one of my pouches each time I look to her cleavage or touch her back gently —she also rebuffs my hands' roaming attempts, which takes more skill than you can believe. In the end we're flirting, but not as patron and waitress…

But as fellow _thieves_.

It's sort of a game between thieves you know, to know who's the better one: you steal something unimportant from the other, and then you give it back before leaving. The more difficult to steal the object is, the better the division in rank is clear-cut. If you keep the stolen item, then you're actually starting a stealing war with the opponent thief —sometimes it just happens that some are outright arrogant men who need to be put back down in their place.

"Why, I am just a fairy of this wonderful inn," the girl, Jessica, laughs gently. "You honour me with your words, dark stranger."

"It is my duty to please you, my charming fairy," I smile back. "I please many with many things after all," I wink at her. "But I have to ask: where can one find a flying ship to go to Albion?" I'm not even surprised there is a floating continent: Shivering Isles took away all semblance of wonder from my mind. Now one would need something like a female humanoid version of Alduin in heat in front of me to elicit me with as much as a 'what?'.

Really, those islands brimmed with madness…then again, it was a mad god that created them.

"There is the Gallian port of La Rochelle," the girl said, "But why would you leave in the middle of the night, fair stranger?"

"Because my work calls," I smile as I gently stand —I do leave some gold coins behind, far more than normal. "I enjoyed this night and this test of my skills…I admit I thought myself rusty." I wink and then hand her over a small piece of fabric.

She blushes fiercely as she moves her hand to her pocket, only to find it empty. She looks at me with surprise, before smiling. "To take away a handkerchief from a maiden…what a villain you are, Dark Stranger," she smiles.

"Oh no," I reply taking the handkerchief out from one of my pocket. "I'd think you'd be windy down there now…"

Then I chuckle as I leave —the girl's cheeks are now positively on fire as she excuses herself with a squeak.

Of course, I keep her handkerchief —I _love_ challenges.

It's the middle of the night, the shadows are thick as I look around in search of…well, a pool of darkness would be too much to ask I suppose but…

"Shadowmere!" I hiss to the shadows in a dark alleyway.

Nothing happens.

"Come on horse, come out! Shadowmere!" I hiss again.

Nothing.

I'm about to turn and leave when my face stumbles inches away from Shadowmere's own.

I nearly curse, but instead I school my features into annoyance and narrow my eyes in an apathy-induced expression. "Ah, Ah, Ah. Funny like death, Shadowmere," the horse snarls at me, clapping his teeth together.

"No, no, it was well _executed_ I admit, but you must work on the final. Maybe doing some tip-tap and finishing it with fireworks?"

The horse's red eyes look at me with the pure hatred of hellfire, and I just smile. "All right, all right," I sigh and hand over to the horse a poisoned apple.

The creature is immune to poison, and she just loves the taste of nightshade spruced on apples.

She also has the uncanny ability of finding out poisoned apples even at miles of distance. It's like she's got a Detect Poisoned Apples always active.

If only Snowhite had kept a horse such as this…

She'd probably have been an assassin, and the story would have gone much different.

I climb up and give a look at the horse's saddle and bags. There are all my thief and assassin armaments but…but I'm lacking the warrior and wizard stuff and some of these things are _old_. Like…there's a Briar-Heart in the bags too. You know, there is something _strange_ about some enemies, because where else have you seen someone whose heart makes for a good salad?

I spur Shadowmere to a gallop, letting the horse run as we reach for the closed gates.

I know I should be subtle.

But I'm trying to bring the Dark Brotherhood to the place…and that means flashy stuff —and killing an Emperor is on the list, but not now.

"_**THE DARK BROTHERHOOD HAS COME! FEAR THE NIGHT, FOR WE ARE THE BLACK HAND OF THE VOID!"**_ I roar as the spectral filter turns me into a creature of nightmares, as Shadowmere enjoys the illusion of being some sort of giant fire and darkness horse.

Then, just to prove my point, I slam a twin fireball against the gates —and the terrified guards' screams as they scamper to run away are just positive reinforcement, really. Some of them scream like _girls_!

I laugh high and madly —something that would make Sheogorath proud I'm sure— as I keep the pace of the horse.

Shadowmere does not tire, but she slows down considerably when the sun rises.

I'm used to being on a horse as a Nord —as an Imperial, magic was more my forte and teleport. Some called it 'Fast Travel', but in truth, it was just a teleport spell that any decent mage could cast. I don't stop along the road, even if my senses tingle about new places to explore which hold some meaning…there's an inn for example, but I give her just a quick glance as I keep galloping.

The sooner I reach La Rochelle, the sooner I can get aboard a _flying_ ship. I have travelled on ships, mind you. Well, actually I have climbed aboard docked ships to kill emperors —only once! It wasn't a habit, really— but that hardly counts as ship-travelling, does it?

I do remember the Jarl of Solitude…she was such a kind girl in need of comfort…and easily _pliable_.

And by the divines she knew how to _bend_!

I stopped Shadowmere after the first day of travel, as my eyes keenly watched the glint of arrow-tips from the rocky cliff that was supposed to be the only passage towards La Rochelle. I frowned. This land was _small_. Skyrim could have me easily gallop for days before reaching my intended destination…and here? Here it didn't take even an entire day!

Well, the sun was setting and I was probably going to have to sleep in an inn at La Rochelle but…I did the thing I always did when there were ambushes against me…

I ran _past_ them without stopping. Their arrows flew in the air, but all they managed to hit was the ground. It's a nifty trick you see: professional or expert archers _can_ hit moving targets with ease. However, do you know what the number of those that belongs to the ranks of banditry is? _Zero_.

So by not stopping —and them stupidly enough not placing any type of natural barrier to slow me down— I actually avoided the fight and reached La Rochelle with time to spare before finding an inn to rest my tiredness.

At least the bandits here are as dumb as those back home…

Because _really_: who sane of their mind would attack someone dressed in black and red?

I know I should remember they don't know of the Dark Brotherhood but…but really, how _stupid_ can one be? I was on the right horse to boot!

The city of La Rochelle resembles Riften in my eyes. Only instead of water and dung there is a nasty fall down to death-by-gravity and the smell of wood everywhere. Which would be sort-of nice, if it weren't for the 'death from gravity' part.

I did my fair bit of climbing mind you: walked on pipes, balanced myself on edges and narrow spaces up above…but it doesn't mean I actually _enjoy_ being on them. I would have been an Acrobat, if I truly loved that.

I stick to the shadows of the alleys as I walked my way on the cobblestone paths that naturally seem to mix with the wooden branches that act as bridges to the 'Treeport'.

There _is_ a giant tree.

I blink.

Where is my woodcutter axe when I need it?

The Inn I find to rest in is nothing to speak of: there are few patrons, all of the 'right' sort, and even then I am ignored when after five minutes I've begun fondling the hilt of my dagger.

The bartender doesn't take orders: he just serves piss poor beer and nothing much.

I accept that…it's just like Riften.

My five seconds of peace finish with the arrival of a green haired beauty that seems to be smiling at me.

"You look like you could use a hand," she smiles as she speaks, "Maybe to ease you of your stress?"

"I've got hands on myself already," I reply with a coarse voice. "You've got something better?" I'm using my lecherous tone: the one I learned from being with the Companion and in the Fighter's guild. The more rough, gruff and lecherous like your voice is, the more people believe you're a mercenary.

Which is stupid, because mercenary are naturally prudish.

Seems strange huh? But you see, if your balls itch you don't fight well. And if you don't fight well then you aren't getting paid or worse, you kick the bucket.

The young ones are the lecherous bastards. The old ones simply remain silent and go straight to the point.

"There is a messenger who is supposed to be arriving at La Rochelle tonight," the green haired beauty continued. "He should have been slowed down by my associates, probably wounded," yes…_yessssss_…_yessssssssssss_…

I'm trying hard not to start laughing in that moment. Really, it's hard. She's asking me…to kill myself? And the bastards believe…they have wounded me?

They didn't describe me to her…probably scared shitless of the price for failure.

"They didn't say much more, except his horse is chestnut or dark brown," she adds. Of course, it probably has to do with _Chameleon_. They saw the giant horse, but not me. "The pay will be of five hundred Ecus."

Now I could try to get someone else, kill him and deliver the letter for five hundred…but _business is business_. First come, first served.

"How about we talk more about business in _private_, girl?" I smile and wiggle my eyebrows.

"Of course," the woman nods. "I have a room upstairs just for the occasion. Although I wish to tell you…" her hand slowly moves to her vest, where she shows the hilt of a mini-staff. "I am not defenceless."

"Course not lass, course not," I refrain from laughing aloud.

I could tap my throat and go with the 'me neither' but as it is…

Oh, it's going to be so much _fun_!

**Author's notes**

**Mysteries everywhere.**


	4. Behold! Panties and Carnage!

A Life Rich in Irony

Chapter Four

I'm admiring a fine piece of curves walking on the same hallway of the inn as us when I'm abruptly jolted out of my reverie by the green haired beauty herself tussling her hair back on my face. She's probably 'womanly' jealous.

I can recognize the type: this one time, I was with Serana and we met up with Frea. Apparently, they had a natural dislike to one another —that didn't stem from one being a millennia old vampire and the other being a Nordic warrior…but more about the fact they both wanted the same piece of Dragonborn.

Then again, once you go Dovah… you never go back-ah.

I snort as the green haired woman opens the door of her room and ushers me in. I take the time to admire the insides of such a place: a bed, a desk and a chest and nothing more. I just so casually walk over the chest and admire the lock for a dwarf-second; if I were willing, then I could probably just sneeze and open it.

The trick is in the air pressure applied.

"Well, are there any commodities I can entice you to? Five-hundred Ecus are after all a lofty weight to carry around," she coyly says. I sigh. She's not going to go with the 'body' option: she's not the type and I can sense it in a second by simply looking at how her body is.

She's faking it pretty well but…hey, I managed to con the priest of Mara in celebrating twenty-five marriages with different women in the same day —and let me tell you that _micro-managing_ every wife so that they did not meet with one another was a bitch.

Thankfully, the housecarls were easy to 'accommodate', and I did build a few homes around Skyrim to boot… while I reclaimed a couple of dwarven ruins and abandoned forts.

"Money is good," I shrug and take out a letter. "This is what you were looking for after all," I toss it in her hands, and admire her open-mouthed face as she flaps her lips like a fish. "What? I'm in this business for quite a while; of course I took the chance when I first saw him."

The lie comes out easy, and the woman laps it up. I lie to the gods on a regular basis; she thinks she can top them? She checks the letter, and once she finds its true she takes out her wand and prepares to burn it.

_That's_ when I pickpocket the letter out of her hands and substitute it with another —blank. The letter burns, she's happy, and I'm happy too.

She didn't see a thing, and I'm all too glad to keep my magical fingers a secret for a bit more.

"Well…I suppose you truly earned all of your pay then," she turns to leave and I just so carefully pinch her left buttock. She yelps for a moment and spins on me angered. My face looks to the side, at the very interesting wall on the right and I whistle, so she just huffs and leaves.

The moment she's out, I pouch the Ecu and then make my way downstairs. The green haired woman speaks with the barman and gives me a glare, before leaving in a hurry.

"Hey! Wait a moment!" I exclaim towards her in the middle of the dingy bar. "You forgot something!"

Then I throw the underwear she wore —dark red, kinky, filled with laces— at her. I leave the bar laughing as the catcalls and the thumb-ups of the other 'bros' echo behind me. The face of the woman wasn't just 'red' it was 'pure crimson flaming red'.

A whistle gets Shadowmere's attention to me and the next I'm trotting towards the port to _buy_ myself a passage to Albion.

It's night, but a ship's captain is kind enough to accept the hasty payment to depart at night —the 'good' type of the captain that is, the one who knows that if they're paying you five-hundred Ecus, you must either move your ass or find yourself gutted in your sleep. They are also the ones who generally try to slice your throat while you're sleeping, but then again…I'm in the business for far longer than he has been…I know my way around said troubles.

The captain actually questions me about the horse, but I just smile and reply.

"What horse?"

"The one next…wait, where is your horse?" he blinks and rubs his tired eyes.

"I think you just dreamt about him," I say calmly.

"Yeah…must be that," the captain goes back to sleep, and I head over to my cabin —that, for five hundred ecus, is a pigsty.

It doesn't matter, because as the morning comes all the most prized possessions of the crew have already been catalogued, and I know I will earn more than two thousand ecus by simply calling forth Shadowmere at the right moment.

Travelling by air is a nice experience, since it reminds me of when I travel on the back of…

I blink.

That…well…I _did_ summon Shadowmere.

But…_no_…really?

I _shouldn't_.

Really.

I shouldn't do it.

My fingers on the other hand itch.

I should wait until I'm safe…because if I fail then I'd have to find another passage, and while I'm pretty sure I can bull-strength my way out of Sovengarde a second time…

_BUT WHO CARES!?_

"_**Odahviing! Hear my Voice and come forth. I summon you in my time of need!"**_

My Thu'um roars into the sky in the middle of the day, scaring the sailors and making a few scream in fright. I wait, feeling my blood boiling. The words of the Thu'um resonate throughout matter itself, and within seconds, a portal appears. From it, the dragon emerges flapping its powerful wings.

"BRIMIR HELP US… A DRAGON!" one of the sailors screams.

Well, the boat is a nice boat, but flying a dragon? That's _way_ better.

The moment the sailors try to reach for the cannons on the sides of the boat —yes, I know what a cannon is, have you ever faced a dwarven ballista? Yes? The principle is the same. There's this joke too about cannons.

_Why was the Sentinel army so useless during the War of Betony?_

_The cannons were too heavy, so all three garbage scows sunk._

Ha! Have a laugh, would you?

If you don't, then your sense of humour was stabbed, repeatedly, by an angry and drunk shadowscale.

Alternatively, there's this other one, that I just remembered as I'm slamming my conjured warhammer into the face of a shocked sailor.

_How do you separate sailors in the Khajiiti navy?_

The answer is with_ a hammer and tongs_.

Because Khajiiti have barbed things, you remember I said that earlier, right? And the navy is gay and so they…each other, _understood_?

I sigh as my brain decides to reboot with silly jokes on sailors and barbed things, while I swap from a conjured warhammer back to my twin blades. I charge ahead, slicing the guts of a nearby man before twirling like a whirlwind and taking apart five men in close succession. There's blood soaking the wood of the boat, but that's the last of my worries as Odahviing sends a fire breath to char the helmsman and rips with its teeth two sailors in front of his mouth afterwards.

Really, don't they know how to fight dragons? You need to attack from the sides and move. Never —ever— stay in front of a dragon's mouth.

They bite.

They bite _HARD_.

I'm having fun, and my brain naturally kicks in to remind me of a similar thing. I remember dashing across the walls of abandoned forts wielding my twin swords. Dawnbreaker burned like the sun itself, and Chillrend tore apart their bodies with its icy existence. I spin around and plunge my Blade of Woe in the chest of a sailor, before beheading another one with a quick thrust of my conjured scimitar.

I breathe and exhale, and spin as I slam both swords in a third man, lifting his corpse in the air before dropping him back on the ground.

"Dovahkiin!" Odahviing exclaims. "They searched for you, but beyond Nirn was the answer then," the dragon speaks with his powerful voice, as the boat begins to fail and burn up to the point it is merely becoming cinder.

My pockets are full of gold —learning how to loot while in combat is always a worthy hobby, and the trick lies in prehensile toes and easy to bend boots— so I have no reason to remain here.

"I'm outsourcing then?" I ask with curiosity. "Good! Listen Odahviing, you mind carrying me to that floating island in that direction?" I hazard a point in the air. "This boat is tediously slow!"

"Yes," the dragon nods. "A worthy reason to have it pillaged and looted I suppose: its slowness."

"You know me!" I laugh as I climb on the dragon's back…and then we were off.

Flying on a dragon can be defined with the following words:

_Fast_.

_Inexistent-Speed-Limits_.

_Ultra-Fast_.

Hyphens count as vocal or vowels to fill the space; hence, they are all single words.

What would take days happens in mere hours, thanks to a mixture of Thu'um that grants speed, that slows time and that provides 'safe passage'. The dragon lands in a verdant and vibrant forest —which reminds me of the luscious areas of Skyrim.

"Dovahkiin," the dragon speaks before departing. "A boy of olivine skin entered Nirn as you left," the eyes of the overgrown lizard stare on me. "It was Him, wasn't He?"

I nod. "Him."

Sheogorath is known as 'him'.

Whenever something mad, something that makes no sense happens…

It's Him.

Odahviing looked to the sky and then grimaces with its scaly face. "I have to go."

"May the wind guide your wings to bountiful pastures," I say as a parting.

"And may you conquer this world with the power of your voice, Dovahkiin!" the dragon bellows strongly in the ancient tongue of his kin, which is to me as familiar as the Nordic tongue itself. He disappears in a portal, leaving me to whistle a tune as I summon Arvaak.

The spectral ghost of the Ashlands appears with a hiss, and I climb on its bony appearance without a moment of thought.

I chuckle to myself as I think about Shadowmere. The fun thing is, that horse is indestructible and will always reappear once killed after one week. Which means that I spent many months finding fun ways of testing her immortality —which is also one of the reasons the poor horse tries to gain an advantage over me constantly. Once I left her in between a portal to Oblivion, and when the first Scamp ended up summoned in her exact location…

Oh, the explosions of fleshy bits! _It was glorious!_

Another time, I morphed a giant into a chicken with the Wabbajack, and made Shadowmere eat an egg of the chicken in question. She just fell dead a moment later. I suppose there is a limit to how much of 'that' someone can eat before keeling over.

I did get annoying messages about 'harming animal life' and 'Protecting Skyrim's eco-system' after that, albeit I suppose the latter is because I generally tend to be a jumpy shooter when I have a bow.

Considering I tend to hunt with Zephyr…

I can actually behead butterflies when I fire. Once, I also killed a little kid striking an arrow to his head —it was definitively his fault! He was in the middle of my lane of fire for Grelod the kind!

I definitively resurrected him though.

As a thrall.

Just long enough to be out of time when the spell ended, so it would clearly _not be_ my fault for his death.

I shake my head out of the thoughts of the past, and soon I'm fumbling through my inventory for a nice horse skull filled with purplish lights.

Arvaak…I found his skull in the hand of mistmen, in the middle of the ashlands. Once I defeated those freaky looking guys —really, ever fought one in close quarters? They're horrible— I ended up able to summon him at will.

Which I do as soon as I grab his skull.

The horse is fast, and as I gallop, I leave behind me a trail of pale blue fire. If only I had my 'scary knight' equipment.

Just imagine it: all made of flawless Ebony, with dark interweaving and a grim looking dragon mask. To strike fear in the hearts of my foes, nothing could be better.

As I take the road, silently letting every now and then the Clairvoyance spell guide my path with its luminous path, I'm reminded of how beautiful it is to explore an unscathed land. I feel the adrenaline of exploring ancient ruins, battling against foes mightier by strength of arms or magic, and then scavenging, lying, thieving, exploiting, and in the end winning against them stack up as I look at this unknown floating island.

And of course, delivering the 'mystery' of life to all females of age for marriage and the 'mystery' of death to all those who'd oppose the first mystery from happening.

Like how I acted in the Shivering Isles.

A realm within a realm.

And I'm going to a frontline of war and devastation!

The problem with clairvoyance however is that it doesn't help you find secondary objectives —like an orphanage in the forest.

All that it guides me to is a giant castle, surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of tents and woodens walls. They're probably sieging it already. I'm halted by two meagre looking guards who'd rather be elsewhere, but as the banner of the Reconquista flies atop the tends, I simply smirk to myself as I descend from Arvaak.

As he disappears into smoke, the guards are no longer happy to see me.

Then again, maybe they weren't to begin with, what with me having a bone-flame producing horse.

"Hello there!" I widen my arms. "Anyone feels a bit of a _chill_ around here?"

_Prince Wales_

Newcastle's siege was supposed to be their final moment. He knew that. He had understood that. He had been ready to accept the demise of the castle and of his life as soon as the Aquila left with the last few civilians.

Then, suddenly, the screams had come from the other side of the walls. At first, he had believed the Reconquista to be charging once more, trying for another push.

He had been surprised when the people in question had begun _begging_ him to let them in. Then things had gotten bizarre as the screams had changed.

"OH GOD MY SPLEEN!"

"FOUNDER, MY RIBS!"

"MY LEGS! I CAN'T FEEL MY LEGS!"

A typhoon of swords, frost, thunder and fire was literally tearing apart the Reconquista camps, and moving closer and closer by the second to the wooden doors of the castle. Quickly, he reached for the courtyard together with his men, preparing for the inevitable onslaught of whatever foul demon the Reconquista had summoned.

"Do not worry men!" he bellowed. "Everything is going to be—"

Then someone _knocked_ at the gates.

There was a moment of silence.

The knock came once more.

"Ehm…who's there?" Prince Wales asked, his voice betraying his nervousness.

"Dark Brotherhood Deliveries! We being Death, Poison and Messages since the dawn of Nirn! Our motto is 'Satisfied, or _Sithis_fied!' I have a message for Prince Wales from Princess Henrietta! Also, I would very much like a bath. The blood stains are horrible to remove once they dry!"

Everyone looked at one another.

"You're not seriously going to let him in, your highness." One of the nobles pointed out.

"He did break the siege singlehandedly," Wales retorted.

_Vittorio_

"And he's also dashingly beautiful," I add, smiling brightly as I walk in. "You should place a better lock at the door, you know?"

I end up with lances pointed at me, but their faces? They're priceless!

Well, I admit that using a lockpick might be against the rules of 'drama' and whatnot, but really…all I need is a hole and a toothpick, and the rest is history —and I generally don't use a toothpick, depending on the hole!

I take out the letter and hand it over to Wales. It's not difficult to falsify a seal, and I give a noncommittal shrug to the lances' tips pointed at my neck. Nothing a quick healing spell can't fix.

The Prince does read the letter quietly, before swallowing nervously and folding it.

"Lower your lances men!" he orders quickly. "He is a guest."

"My name is Vittorio," I say with a bright smile. "And while I'm sure you have a lot of interesting things to tell me, at the moment I have a few contracts to carry out in Londinium and surroundings. Sorry if I steal a horse and don't stop to have a chat with you, but this should give you enough time to write a reply! So…see you later!"

And then I trot off.

None of them realized I had stolen the horse at the same time as I was talking, walking towards the stables, and then heading out towards the remains of the Reconquista camp.

I can so multi-task!

I leave behind me a befuddled Prince, perplexed nobles, a slaughter that accounts in the thousands…and maybe quite the number of widows.

I should get around to finding the Reconquista wives and blaming it all on the Prince.

…

Can one die of too much _mystery_?

I have to test that out!

And thus I trot off, with a horse that isn't Arvak because Arvak is actually a bit too much flashy —unless I'm of the idea of slaughtering everything at arrival that is, but even I would balk at an entire city. For one thing, the guards always reappear from _somewhere_.

For another…think of the children!

Too many orphans is bad, too few is bad too…and I _must_ think of the economy of the state.

After all, without money, who'd hire the Dark Brotherhood?

**Author's notes**

**This came out 'as is'. It will probably be the last chapter since my muse-engine kicked the bucket on this story.**


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